Diane Keaton on Airbrushing, Plastic Surgery, and What Her Daughter Taught Her About Beauty

Diane Keaton is feeling a bit melancholy about the passage of time: When I spoke to her about her new book, Let’s Just Say It Wasn’t Pretty, she just had to put down her daughter’s pet rat. “Nala was a genius,” Keaton says fondly. I bet her fur was nice, too. And isn’t that what we all want as we age—sharpness, curiosity, and a little shine to our coat? Wouldn’t we all love to age, in other words, like Diane Keaton? At 68 years old, she is still being cast as a romantic lead. And in this charming and thoughtful collection of personal essays, Keaton argues that beauty never becomes less important.

You write, “These old-as-dirt days have one advantage: I’ve learned to see beauty where I never saw it before.” What do you mean? “When I was young, I wanted my appearance to be more interesting than what surrounded me. Now the body part I like best is my eyes, because they bring beauty to me.”

How so? "You have the opportunity to see out. That’s the change. It’s about the transformation from one way of living to another. As you move along, you don’t want to be stuck with the same set of concerns. There are so many aspects of the new that are engaging—don’t be afraid of it. Why is the old so great? I don’t think it is. Let’s move along. It keeps you curious and alive and filled with appreciation."

You also say your ideas about bodies have changed as you’ve gotten older. How? “It took me a while to fall in love with the female form. When I was young, I was more taken with the Twiggys of the world, women who were boyish. Now I have a daughter who is shapely, and I think that has helped change my view.”

Have your rules about what you will wear changed as you’ve gotten older? “I am never going to wear anything sleeveless, ever, ever, ever. But I’ve always loved suits and jackets. I think there should be a chain of stores that make men’s clothing fitted to women’s bodies—called Ellen’s Crossing or something.”

There was a lot of Internet chatter about how you looked at the Golden Globes—natural, wrinkles and all—juxtaposed with a L'Oréal commercial that played right after your appearance. How do you feel about retouching? “I mean, why not? Let’s doll ourselves up as best we can. Everyone is slightly altered and slightly refreshed in photos and on camera—the very young, too. Basically, I’m happy to be a L'Oréal spokesperson at age 68.”

But you haven’t dolled yourself up with plastic surgery. “I haven’t, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. Though at this point, it’s a little hard to imagine. My mother never did anything to her face. And then, too, I look at my contemporaries. I see the very good work. I see the very bad work. I just don’t know if I want to mess with that. But, boy, I’m glad there’s such a thing as great lighting in movies and a little refreshing in photos. The point is, no matter what you do, you’re going to get older, and you won’t be here forever. So how do you grapple with it? How do you feel good about yourself?”

How do you? “I still love attention. I’m a performer, and it’s in my blood—I want people to watch. People do look at me because they recognize me, but as you get older, you’re looked at less. The compensation is that you get all this pleasure from being the observer, not just from being observed.”